Skye O'Malley (49 page)

Poor Ana was overcome. She had raised this girl from birth, and believed she knew her well. How could something so pure and fresh-looking be so filled with evil? Dear Holy Mother, how could
she not have seen it? Then her great love for Maria overcame her abhorrence.

“Niña,”
she said quietly, “we are in grave danger. These Moors mean to sell you into a harem. You would not like being confined, or sharing one man with a hundred other women. If you tried to deceive your master you would first be terribly tortured and then killed.”

“Do not fear, Ana,” came the confident reply. “The Moors will not sell me. They will ransom us back to my lord husband.”

“
Niña
, how can you be sure?”

“I am with child, Ana. I will bear the Conde a child next year. They cannot sell a pregnant woman. I should make some lovely houri with a big belly! I have told Captain Hamid this, and have agreed to service him and his crew for the term of our stay with him.

“Maria!”

The young Condesa laughed. “Do not scold me, dear duenna. I’ll wear them out before they wear me out. Besides, soon I shall be too fat with my baby. And once the child is born all I will have again will be my husband.” She sighed bleakly.

The beautiful Condesa calmly accepted the role of ship’s whore and was available at any hour of the day or night. Ana could only watch helplessly, and pray that their ransom would be paid quickly. When it was, and they were returned to Palma, Ana watched with amazement as her mistress, now pale and demure as befitted a young Spanish matron of noble blood, fell fainting into her anxious husband’s arms. Soon, under the stern eyes of the Archbishop of Mallorca and the Conde, Ana swore on the holy relics kept in the Palma cathedral that her mistress had remained untouched by the Moors during the period of her captivity. This extraordinary restraint was due to their respect for her impending motherhood.

But the Conde was suspicious. Even when Constanza was born six months later, a fat full-term baby, he still doubted. Ana never knew why, for Maria had never given the Conde any reason to doubt her. Ana liked to believe that Maria had died of a broken heart, brought on by the Conde’s distrust. In reality she died of the complications of childbirth. The greatest of these complications was a massive dose of venereal disease. The doctor, used to his fine and elegant lady patients, never even identified the pox as the true cause of Maria’s death. And the Conde believed she had died of shame at having been held captive by infidels.

It came to Ana now that her Maria had been an evil creature who had passed on her devil’s seed to the innocent Constanza. Now Constanza was tainted too, and there was nothing Ana could do about it. Sooner or later Lord Burke would find out the double life his wife was leading, and when that happened … Ana shuddered and an icy sense of disaster surrounded her.

Ana’s complaints had roused Niall from his black mood. He saw that he could not rest until he knew the truth about the new Countess of Lynmouth. There was only one man who could tell him.

The fierce storm that had torn through England had delayed the sailing of Robert Small’s fleet. Despite careful precautions, several ships had been damaged and it would take some weeks to repair them. The Devon captain was therefore still in London, and Lord Burke sought him out, finding him at the King’s Head Inn. The two men exchanged pleasantries and then Niall seated himself opposite the captain and said straightforwardly, “I need your help in unraveling a mystery, sir.”

Robert Small sipped his ale and regarded the Irishman quietly. He replied, “If it’s in my power, m’lord.”

“Several years ago,” began Niall, “I fell in love with a young girl. She was already betrothed, and my father did not think her highborn enough for me. She was wed to another man and bore her husband two sons before being widowed. My own marriage had been a farce, and was annulled by the Church. My father then agreed to a marriage between the lady and myself. Not only had she proven herself a good breeder, but she was wealthy by then. We were formally betrothed, but before we could wed, it was important to my lady’s family interests that she make a sea voyage. I joined her on that voyage.”

Robert Small felt an eerie sense of premonition creep over him.

“We had almost reached our destination when we were attacked by pirates. In the last moments of the battle one of those devils kidnaped my lady.”

Robert Small felt a trickle of nervous sweat roll down his back. His stomach, full with a rich dinner and stout English ale, began to roll. Dear Christ, what was Lord Burke after? “What is it you want of me, my lord?” he asked abruptly.

“The truth, Captain. You brought to England a woman known as Señora Goya del Fuentes, the widow of your dead partner, allegedly raised in a convent in Algiers. I might have accepted that
story except that the lady is the identical twin of my lost betrothed. Identical! Yet when I questioned her she seemed honestly to have no knowledge of Ireland or the O’Malley family.” He paused. “At the bedding of the Earl and Countess of Lynmouth, Lady Southwood’s gown slipped and I saw a tiny mole at the crest of her right breast. The possibility of two women who look so alike and bear the same name, I must reluctantly accept. But that two unrelated, coincidentally identical women should have the same mole I do not think possible. I believe the Countess of Lynmouth is the lost Skye O’Malley, and I think you know the truth of this matter. Why will she not acknowledge me or her past?”

“Because, my lord, she has no memory of anything prior to Algiers,” said Robert Small calmly. “The only thing she was ever able to tell us was her name. Later on, she realized she was able to speak, read, and write in several languages. She had a strong sense of values, acquired somehow, but who she was and where she came from is all unknown, though I, of course, recognized her accent as Irish.

“The doctors explained that she suffered a shock, something so painful that her mind chose to blot everything out rather than face the terrible event—whatever that was.”

“My God,” Niall Burke was white-faced. “Tell me, Captain, was she truly married to a Spanish merchant, or is her child the result of rape?”

Robert Small hid a smile. North Africa was hardly a safe world, especially for women, but it wasn’t much different here. Why did all Christian Europeans think of Moslems as sex-crazed fiends? “Willow is the result of a great love,” he said. “Skye was indeed wed to my Algerian business partner. His name was Khalid el Bey, and it was he who rescued Skye. He adored her and she him. When he was murdered it almost destroyed her, and I brought her to England to escape the advances of the Turkish governor who was behind Khalid’s death. She met Lord Southwood, and they fell in love.

“Now, my lord Burke, I have told you all I know, and I would appreciate it if you would return the favor. Who is she? Where is her home? You say she bore her first husband children? Are they living?”

“Her name is Skye O’Malley. Her first husband, may his soul burn for all eternity, was Dom O’Flaherty. He gave her two sons, both living. Her father was Dubhdara O’Malley.” Here Robert Small whistled softly through his teeth, for what seaman had not heard of the great Irish pirate-merchant, Dubhdara O’Malley? “On his death,” finished Niall, “she was made the O’Malley of Innisfana, pending the majority and aptitude of one of her half-brothers.”

“How have they fared without her?” asked Robert Small.

“Her uncle, the Bishop of Connaught, has taken charge—much to my father’s annoyance,” smiled Niall. “When Skye disappeared the MacWilliam, my father, thought to avail himself of the O’Malley interests. But the O’Malleys have always been independent, for all they do owe us fealty.”

The two men sat in companionable silence for a few moments, then Robert Small sighed, “Well, my lord Burke, what do you intend to do with this knowledge? I must warn you that Skye should have no shocks now. She is with child.”

“But she’s just wed …!” Then Niall Burke flushed and finished weakly, “Oh.”

Robbie chuckled softly. “She’s a beautiful woman.”

“What am I to do now, sir? I can hardly tell the Countess that she is my lost betrothed wife.”

“Why not tell Southwood about her background, my lord? Leaving out, of course, your personal involvement with her,” suggested Robert Small. “Geoffrey should know. Then write to the Countess’s uncle and explain the situation. It is only decent that her family know she is alive. Geoffrey Southwood loves Skye dearly, and after their child is born I am sure he’ll want her to know of her past. Perhaps knowledge of it will bring her memory back.”

Niall Burke was thoughtful, then said, “Be there, Robert. Help me tell him. I’m in a difficult position.”

“I understand.” Robert Small debated with himself for a moment, then asked, “Tell me, my lord Burke, do you love her still?”

“Yes,” said Niall Burke without hesitation, “I still love her. I have never stopped loving her, though God knows I have tried. The memory of her has haunted my every hour, waking and sleeping.”

“And your wife?”

“Constanza is my wife, Robert. I may have done her a great disservice by marrying her, but until death parts us she is my wife, as Skye is Lord Southwood’s.”

“I am relieved to know that you are a sensible man, my lord. You see, Skye is the child that neither my sister nor I ever had. We love her dearly, and would not see her hurt. She remembers nothing before she awoke in Khalid’s house, and she obviously does not remember you. I will arrange for us to see the Earl immediately, for the repairs to my fleet will be completed soon and I must sail when they are. This storm has delayed me long enough.”

Robert Small was as good as his word. Within the hour he sent a note to the Earl of Lynmouth that read, “Imperative I see you
alone, without Skye’s knowledge, immediately. Meet me aboard my ship tonight at ten.”

Geoffrey Southwood, raising an elegant blond eyebrow at the cryptic message, made an excuse to his bride and rode off, promising a swift return. Arriving at the docks, he was escorted aboard the
Mermaid
to the captain’s cabin, where he was surprised to find the Irishman, Burke, waiting with Robert Small.

Geoffrey flung his cloak to the little cabin boy and, nodding to both men, sprawled his long frame into a chair. “Well, Robbie, what’s so important that you would take me from my bride on my honeymoon?”

“Have some wine, my lord,” said Robbie. “You know Lord Burke?”

“We’ve met. The Burgundy, Robbie.”

Robert Small poured wine for himself and his guests, and when the cabin boy had served the goblets, Robbie instructed him, “Stand watch outside, my lad. We’re not to be disturbed unless the ship is sinking. Do you ken?”

The boy grinned. “Aye, sir!” he said, and closed the door behind him.

Robert Small sat back and drew a long deep breath. “Geoffrey, I’ve news that should make you happy, but it is of a
very
delicate nature. For several months Lord Burke has been quite confused by Skye’s name and appearance. When you were bedded at Greenwich several nights ago he saw a mole on Skye’s … um, Skye’s … Skye’s person!” he gasped, as Southwood’s green eyes darkened.

“The tiny star?” Geoffrey asked softly.

“The very same,” answered Niall.

“You’ve big eyes, Irishman,” said the Earl, his voice soft with warning.

Niall bit back a hot-tempered reply. Damn the arrogant, possessive English bastard! Robert quickly resumed. “When Lord Burke saw the mark on Skye he was able to make a positive identification, although he was still quite confused as to why Skye did not acknowledge knowing him. He has mentioned names and places to her and is convinced that she has no knowledge of them. So he came to me this afternoon.”

“And?” Geoffrey Southwood’s voice was icy.

“She is Skye O’Malley,” said Niall Burke. “The O’Malley of Innisfana, herself, and vassal to my father, who is the MacWilliam. Skye O’Malley disappeared several years ago off the North African coast and was presumed dead. Robert Small has explained her loss
of memory to me. I felt, my lord, that you should know her true identity, but the captain and I were fearful of disclosing these facts to Skye herself.”

Geoffrey Southwood’s eyes narrowed just slightly at Niall Burke’s familiar use of his wife’s name. “Tell me of my wife’s family,” he said pointedly.

“Both her parents are dead, her father just a year before she was lost. She has a stepmother and uncle of whom she is quite fond, five older sisters, a younger brother, four younger half-brothers,
and two sons
by her first marriage. He’s dead, my lord,” Niall finished quickly, seeing the Earl go white about the lips.

“Did she love him?”

“Certainly not! He was a bastard who delighted in mistreating her. He was dead before she left Ireland, proving that there is a God in Heaven.”

Geoffrey Southwood’s eyes narrowed further and glittered dangerously at the impassioned tone in Lord Burke’s voice. “And what, my lord, was your connection with
my wife
?”

“We grew up together,” said Niall. The lie slipped coolly off his tongue. “Her father was the O’Malley of Innisfana, her mother, Margaret McLeod, of the isle of Skye. When Dubhdara O’Malley died he made Skye his heiress until one of her brothers was old enough and showed an aptitude for the family seafaring business. Skye had always been her father’s favorite, and had her father not finally sired some sons it probably would all have gone to her anyway. After the O’Malley died she swore her fealty to my father, as had all the O’Malley chiefs before her.”

“And what was she doing on a ship off the North African coast?” demanded the Earl.

“The O’Malleys have been great sea rovers for centuries. Her trading fleet had made inquiries of the Algerian government with regard to beginning trade. When the Dey of Algiers learned that the O’Malley chief was a woman he insisted on meeting her before he would continue their negotiations. Representing my father, I accompanied her on that voyage. A severe storm tore the Dey’s protective pendant from our mast, and when the storm ended we fought a sea battle with Barbary pirates. They didn’t know that we were under the Dey’s protection. We had almost succeeded in driving them off when one pirate swung across the gap between the ships and carried off the O’Malley. Before we could retrieve her a fog bank separated the ships. I had been severely injured, and was
taken to the island of Mallorca. The rest of the O’Malley fleet sought for Skye, with the Dey’s aid, but no trace of her was found.”